


The Reach

by MajesticalJeff



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Accents, Angst, Bitterness, Chocolate, Colds, Cuddling, Depression, Desperation, Doubt, Embarrassment, First Christmas Together, First Kiss, Flirting, Fluff, Grumpiness, Hannigram gift exchange, I'm not kidding, Invasion of Privacy, Longing, Love, M/M, Mulled wine, Pining, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Presents, Pretentiousness, Scars, Seasonal, Some Crack, Teasing, Will holds a toddler, clapbacks, cutting down trees, fancy food, friendships, hidden identity, i can promise this isn't as sad as it seems, lots of doubt, mischievous behavior, not SUPER christmas-y at all, painful memories, reaching, tree decorating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 23:09:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5516663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MajesticalJeff/pseuds/MajesticalJeff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snow, thick and heavy, piles upon logs and branches of the mid ¬December forest, making the sky an angry grey that dry, naked branches shattered and creaked upon it like cracks in glass, broken only as tufts of flurries dance down from above on a wind that is howling and cold, turning any and all bared skin into its icy victim, leaving nothing but dried, scratchy flesh in its wake.<br/>But this does not stop Will Graham.<br/>***</p><p>After the night they slayed the Dragon, Will and Hannibal have spent three months not knowing how to communicate, instead snapping at one another to a insufferable point where something must be done about it. So what's a better couples activity then passive-aggressive tree cutting?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. December 23rd

**Author's Note:**

  * For [not_my_shell (Attic_Nights)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Attic_Nights/gifts).



> If you're not super christmas-y, don't worry. I myself don't even technically celebrate this holiday. This is just a fun (and angsty) fic that's meant to make someone smile. 
> 
> Beta'd, but nothing is perfect. Don't mind any little mistakes. Thanks and enjoy!

_SEVEN MILES OUTSIDE OF COEUR D’ALENE, IDAHO_

_DECEMBER 23 rd, 2015_

 

                                  Snow, thick and heavy, piles upon logs and branches of the mid December forest, making the sky an angry grey that dry, naked branches shattered and creaked upon it like cracks in glass, broken only as tufts of flurries dance down from above on a wind that is howling and cold, turning any and all bared skin into its icy victim, leaving nothing but dried, scratchy flesh in its wake.

        But this does not stop Will Graham.

                                  Feet beating a steady pace beneath him upon the once clear dirt path that was becoming progressively snowier, elbows tucked in and lungs working hard, his breaths are expelled in silver clouds none too different from smoke from between chapped lips, the weather having long since numbed him to adjustment as his racing blood provided what little warmth he needed.

                                  His heart beats, fast and bright, and the lungs atop them are chaffed and straining, but he does not stop. Jogging took his mind off of things, the solitude and stance of the creaking oaks around him playing a song all of their own, the scenery the story that danced along, all very pleasant and contorted, something to distract his mind only temporarily from ‘ _home’_ and the one whom he shared –

        A twig snaps, and there is the bark of a mutt in the distance, neither of which sliding by Will’s attention even as the blood and wind rushing in his ears is near deafening.

                                  He did not startle, instead slowing to a stop, body quickly switching from a fluttering machine to solid marble as his head cocks unconsciously in the direction of the distant conversing, the yipping mutt. He is near fae in appearance as his lids dip shut, his focus balanced solely on sound as he wonders, admirably, if the nose of the hunting hound could sniff out the dead, following the trail all the way through these dense trees to him. It seemed oddly tamed, and yet Will was unbothered.

                                  There was another crunch, the press of snow - footsteps? Heavy, so most likely boots, not some jogger. Hunters with their season tags, donned in camouflage and neon vests that are a far cry from Will’s black wool sweater and plain grey shorts. Perhaps they’d wandered accidentally onto the private property, unaware of the owners who resided in the area.

_Dangerous._ Will muses to himself, unbothered by this rather insignificant situation. The idea of being shot by some old fools who mistook him for some game was mundane and unideal still, and it was clear he must make his way now before he made himself a new scar.

                                  A strong expel of air, whispering silver in the air as his eyes flit open one more. Will waits, patiently, until the whines of the mutt is out of his earshot before picking up his steady pace once more, continuing on his path unfazed.

 

***

 

                                  "There was somebody in the woods today." The words are spilt, unkempt and jarring into the silence. Wine seeping through a white tablecloth followed by the expected fumbling hands rush to clean up the mess and restore order.

                                  Will’s eyes, although, remained focused on the refined and eloquent – yet somehow no less metaphorical –  _hands_ of one Hannibal Lecter, who does not scramble to restore their falsity of calm and terse silence, instead, uses his knife to press another piece of penne upon his fork, taking his sweet and tender time.  _Rude_ , should Will dare say it, but not unexpected. It was a statement that heeded no need for answer or secularity, or at least not immediately. Although it seemed that was how most of their dinners went, leaving the slightest tang of desperation on Will’s tongue as his icy gaze moved away from the delicate hands of Hannibal to instead focus on his face.

                                  Once a prime and prim man, Hannibal now held the weathered and warmed appearance of success, fulfillment filling in the lines of his face and the detached warmth of his gaze. His hair had grown to a shoulder length that he tended to pull into a small knot upon the back of his head, and Will doubted the man would ever cut it again after the bout in prison and how they had butchered it while he resided, although he _had_ bleached it for the sake of disguise, the once ashbrown and silver a silver platinum. The light, silvery scruff upon his cheeks made his defined cheekbones stand out even more so then usual, and he’d lost weight, making up for all the loss workout opportunities that had been taken from him over the last three years. Will would have to admit, he received enough satisfaction from this new, untucked Hannibal as much as he despised it, seeing it as a sign of admission;  _proof_ that the other man had only ever needed Will to be happy and was willing to give up everything he had been for him, just as he’d claimed.

                                  He had not, fortunately, given up much, and Will’s lack of guilt was saved seeing as none was needed and kept to it’s minimal. They had taken up residence a few miles out of  _Coeur D’Alene_ , in a large  _manor_ amongst dense forest and well out of sight. Hannibal, Will would have to admit, had found something that suited both of their tastes without being unbalanced. It catered to both of their personalities, with rough red brick and three floors of polished appearance with the light and coziness that came of a cabin.

                                  But unlike the home they resided in, their balance and sturdy foundation remained nonexistence, bricks and stones falling inward and decaying over time, pressure building and creaking, all but ready to collapse. And as Will sits at their dark oak table beside the large glass window, he can think nothing more than of the blank, open chasm between them.

                                  He had tried kill himself, and had tried to take Hannibal with him. But it didn’t feel exactly that no matter how simple it was. He remembers the night of which the Dragon was so finally slayed, how the smell of copper had slicked his senses with crimson Even now, with the sound of clinking utensils, Will can smell it,  _taste it_ , the drip into his mouth and over his chin, but not even that was enough to save them both from his internal turmoil of wrath that had nearly sent them to their watery graves.

                                  It felt oddly aligned if Will was to dwell on it –which he did quite often, much like punishments over so many years. The framing, then betrayal, the massacre, then prison, and now the mighty fall, one last self-deprecating push upon their bruise, now an open wound, sore and sickly from the scab being torn away so many times in turn.

                                  That infection took form in silence. It follows them, poisonous and unspoken, as roughly sewn scars close and bones mend, it bitters the backs of their tongues like arsenic and brings with it the cold fire of anger, left unspoken and decayed, with nowhere to go but within, and so it sits and boils, fueling their every action with chaste and pressed lips.

                                  Will picks at his food as he is lost in thought, and Hannibal does not comment. After the  _fall_ , after the impact knocking him unconscious and leaving his life in Hannibal's porcelain hands, he had found that his palate had been lost. Part of it probably due to the fact when Dolarhyde had so kindly driven a knife through his cheek, it had sliced into the side of his tongue cleanly, which had only added to the complicated stitches and healing so as to not cause infection and giving him a permanent slur. Since then, his tastes were monotone no matter what Hannibal cooked, remaining indifferent, and as he carried on his new existence, Will realized it was not only his taste that had been affected by this near sober blankness.

                                  Not that it mattered, Hannibal's own _tastes_ had been limited down by the damage of scar tissues as well, tugging the edges of his stomach and making the organ weaker than he cared to admit, something that they learned unfortunately quickly. A small smile attempted to tug Will’s lips at the memory of the infamous Hannibal Lecter throwing up violently into a public beach side trashcan after attempting to eat a Thai soup of his own making whilst on the run.

                                  Thinking of scars, Will's hand raises almost subconsciously to scrape a dirty thumbnail along the deep one upon his own face, nearly hidden by the thick, dark beard he had let grow in, more out of a childish urge to spite Hannibal, only to find once he had it, he had become inexplicably fond of it, despite how incredibly short he kept his hair now – both of which he’d dyed a glossy shade of orange for the sake of appearances as Hannibal had.

        "Are you concerned?"

        The question comes so suddenly that Will frowns, realizing only minutely that Hannibal had spoken so long after his statement had been said.

                                  "About the people in the woods?" Will hums in consideration, acting as if Hannibal’s sudden decision to speak was not surprising, fork set straight into his plate as he rotated it slowing, the cream sauce from that night's alfredo making path for it. "Should I be?"

                                  The question is asked with an arched brow and clenched jaw, although eye contact is not made as the sudden question takes a darker turn of thought. It is curt, deflective, something meant to prod, not to comply with their previous stiff causality, a question that could have gone two ways yet leans heavily towards the one. They had been like this for the many months they had spent cooped in cars, then buses, boats, motels, and now even here. With tongues like knives and both of their fiery yet reasonable rages held at bay, both knowing full well that it could only end in blood if not.

                                  "Are you accusing of something premeditated?" the question is a shot back. So evidently screaming  _'as you have before?’_ and so the battle commences. Will can almost feel the embers of their collected anger been stroked as he runs his tongue over the back of his teeth, focusing on the grooves he felt instead of how much he wanted to climb over the table and throttle the other man.

                                  "You're not exactly innocent, Hannibal." Will says coldly although they both full well know exactly how hypocritical that statement is. Of course, Hannibal picks up the offered spoon, his response biting back just as quickly.

                                  "Agreed. I am no more than you, to say the least." the impassiveness of his tone made Will's teeth clench together even harder, and it is only when Hannibal leans forward suddenly to place his large hand over Will's smaller one does he realize that the fork in his hands now screeched against the porcelain plate beneath as he turns it.

                                  Will tugs his grip free quickly, setting his fork flat before getting up gruffly from his seat, taking both his and Hannibal's plates and marching off to the large, open kitchen, likely to spend an unnaturally long time scrubbing at them as the lone window above the sink reveals the golden pink glow of the sun setting through miles and miles of trees. It would color his skin with shadows and a dim blue, his fingers left clammy and sensitive from the water and minty lemon dish soap as they clutched the counter edge. Sometimes he would stare, blandly and unseeing, until a darkness overtook the skies only to be broken by the moon, stark and proud against the velvet night surrounding it.

                                  A part of him would travel back, hand raised, blood slick and black upon it as phantom pains overtook his form as pins and needles, enough to make his fingers tremble against the raised moon, silvery light dancing over them. His breath would come out ragged, his hair and tongue feeling suddenly sticky and damp once more as the night that had broken yet mended him seemed to overtake his reality for the briefest of seconds.

                                  But there was never blood, no real pain to be found, and he would lower his hand, only to turn his back to the moon, walk through the unnecessarily large house where most rooms left awkwardly unused, to go up to the top floor, out onto the stone balcony, and overlook the lower forest from the rocky mountain cliff their manor were perched on, so opposite of the rolling black seas, there instead is miles of green trees, facing the opposite was of the city many miles away.

                                  Hannibal would always find him here, no matter the time or season, and it went unmentioned despite their shared knowledge of the fact. So it is no surprise when behind him mere hours later, as the moon peaked the embers of the sky, he hears the slide of the glass door, the purposely crinkling of snow beneath leather boots. The illusion of control coiling forward to embrace Will with soft fingers and sharp nails. He sighed, watching much like this morning as his breath escaped him, silvery and curled.

                                  Hannibal says nothing as he shuffles up behind Will, but the unmistakable weight of a blanket being set over Will's shoulders is enough for him to glance with a peaked eyebrow over at the other man. He had only been in his lazy knit sweater and jeans, but it was then when he realized how cold he had become.

                                  "I believe a conversation is in order." Hannibal sighs, joining Will in leaning upon the banister. Will's gaze flicks quickly over him ashen hair pulled back as usual despite the wind that tugged strands free and donned in his long, brown coat He had known where Will would be when he was not in the two select rooms that he usually lingered in and Will could imagine him, walking towards the sink to see the immaculately clean dishes upon the drying rack before looking up, as if he could see through the layers of wood and metal up to where his small piece of divinity stood in the cold, wrapped in doubt and self-loathing that had long since spoiled and was left to fester, only to take great care in wrapping himself in the strong wool jacket and dark, ornately stitched scarf, tucking a pleated blanket under his arm and making the grand march upwards.

        A part of Will was bitter at this invasion, like the man had crawled into his own skull and was racking up tissue all the way. Instead of speaking his bitter thoughts, Will murmurs his response of, "About what?”, tongue heavy in his mouth as cold whitened fingers rub together from where they hang over the banister, the rough sound much like sandpaper.

                                  "I believe you know." and as Will stares off over the jags of rocks and whites of snow upon treetops, he knows. Two cliffs much like the one they are perched on now, hanging menacingly above the chasm, a representation of them both pressed far when they desire to be close, stones like knives, inky and dark, desperately reaching to no avail.

        But Will hadn't been reaching.

                                   Will was also well aware of Hannibal's feelings for him, the undiluted love rolling through him like a poison, seeping from every pore and represented in heated glances and kindnesses of undoubted mercy. Will knew the man would not be content forever, he would grow fidgety and irate, desperation touching his tongue as he watches what he cannot have while knowing all the same that no other will either, and it would drive him mad, fingers twitching and teeth grinding as Will remained ever so close yet still out of his grasp, like God reaching for the hand of Adam.

                                  But yet he would never force Will's hand, his true craving only sated if it was Will who came to him, who embraced his madness with confidence and held him close, to force Will was crude, unfulfilling, his only desire to see Will create himself as much as Hannibal did, and Will had years of experience to know for certain.

                                  The patience, the offers of family and the opportunities of fathering, immaculate meals, well meant words and smiles, all acceptance of flaws with open arms; from the smallest touches to the largest of graces, Hannibal had desired Will from first sight, a burning in his rib cage that could never be soothed not even from the richest of wines or thickest of bloods and would likely never be.

                                  And Will had brushed it off without the slightest second thought; a touch upon his shoulder being shrugged off, meaningful glances looked away from, comforting or reassuring endearments and near suggestive comments laughed off with something dark and more potent, everything ever so glazed by Will’s custom obliviousness.

                                  And so the chasm yawns between them, and Will decided to respond to the echo, his words coming out on a near defeated sounding sigh, "You have always yearned to stir the waters, Hannibal."

                                  Beside him, Hannibal shifts, clearly taken aback by the statement, only to quietly respond. "The waters are perfectly fine Will."

                                  "And yet," Will says, his tone lofty and impersonal to them both, "neither of us are willing to wade into them. Why is that?" Will realizes this is not exactly how Hannibal had imagined this beginning; perhaps he envisioned Will reserved and shy to the idea of the man's affection or the blundering thought of something more than the plainly domestic relationship they had carried on, impersonal and bluntly platonic. Rather now, Will was fickle worded and twined his thoughts like thread, using merciless approach upon Hannibal and leaving him rather ornately taken aback.

                                  "I had believed you would desire space. Perhaps I am wrong?" Will can feel the small spark of hope in Hannibal's words, and an image of a dehydrated man desperately searching for water within miles of sand crawls vividly into his mind. Will realizes, then, that in these very moments he  _is_  in control, because it was Will who determined this man's heart, his feeling and where they lay. And Will would admit it made his own heart skip a beat, a euphoric feeling pulsing through his veins.

                                  Instead, he stuffs this feeling away, forcing it apart for the sake of rationality. Hannibal has more than once bred expectation, stoking its fire and tossing more logs upon it only to control the blaze, and it is something Will can see happening to this conversation should he let it, the fire he lit burning hot and crackling, only to be effortlessly abandoned and left to smolder out, lacking the fuel the flaring embers desired.

                                  Hannibal expects something of a crossroad response now, something entirely wrecked and scavenged or angrily spiteful, instead, Will's response is a simple, emotionless yet still lighthearted in sentence, "If you are to look at a situation's potential scenario from all angles, it will leave little room for doubt when you finally stumble upon it."

                                  "And so you had predicted a situation such as this all along, Will?" Hannibal replies just as quickly. "Is that why you had married away after tasting betrayal of your own?"

                                  Will nearly cringes at the mention of his previous relationship, the name of whom it was with going healthily unmentioned. Predicting Hannibal’s affections had been unexpected, but predicting his own had been _dangerous_ , and Will cannot deny that perhaps marrying Molly was not for the sake of  _true love_ after all. Instead of confessing his true assumptions, Will goes on as if unbothered. "You paint me as petty Hannibal, when I was simply taking what was offered for a source of  _comfort_.”

                                  "Something you regularly do not have a history of doing or receiving?" comes the curt reply, and Will can taste the tang of citrus on the back of his own tongue from the bitter words. "I had offered you a great many things, Will, and comfort was amongst them.”

                                  Will knew Hannibal was right, but it didn’t mean he wasn’t upset about it. His marriage with Molly had been enjoyable, the casual comfort that came with a mundane life, something he could surely get used to but just as easily bored. Both he and Molly had known this, something that had been reflected in their last conversation.

                                  Always kind, always understanding, laying the blame elsewhere so many times in the sake of their marriage until the final moment where she apologizes and explains that they’re leaving. She never meets his eye as she says it, that she and Wally are leaving back to her parents – not because of him, never because of  _him –_ but because the protection of her son was her top most priority. With a choked throat, Will had swallowed back his pride and feelings to agree.

                                  In reality, it was nothing more than a cloak for the obvious disenchantment that would have eventually claimed its own wedge between them, making it not so much of a shock to Will that Molly had also realized this, that eventually his feelings would run dry, the passion unraveling like a used patchwork. The attack of the Dragon had been a blessing of sorts, saving her from the future inevitable heartache, and Will just as much from the painful isolation, a final justification for them both to leave a relationship that had never exactly been right, but never quite wrong either. Convenient.

                                  Paperwork would have come in the mail, but the events that had happened so rapidly had made her a widow before a divorcee, and the heartache would be less but not nonexistent. She would feel guilty, perhaps, knowing some of her last words to him was that she was going to leave him, and perhaps she would dwell on his memory and shed a few tears for the loving times they had shared, but Molly was a brave woman, being a single mother had roughened her, and she would have to once more go elbow deep into the muck of the world to scavenge together a better life for she and Wally both, something she has no time for if pondering over previous lovers.

                                  But it wasn’t Molly who stuck to Will’s mind after Hannibal’s ever so pressing comment about things had had offered. It was another girl, younger, darker, but no less sweet. And the memory of her left his mouth dry as he swallowed back a pain that he doubted would ever leave his side.

                                  And it is as if Hannibal can feel it also, the change in the air as a name goes unmentioned once more, the picture of a slit throat like a wide smile through alabaster skin is dancing behind Will's eyes. Silence befalls them and remains unbroken, only the sound of whistling winds and the creaks of their settling home permeating the air.

                                  "I miss her." comes Will's quiet mumble, not spoken to anyone in particular. It required no explanation, no resolve. And Hannibal sighs a little gust of air beside him as he shifts. Within a brief second, the other man adds his take. "As do I." 

                                  It was time, a conversation held so long between them could only end cold and angry. Another flash of Molly flies through his memory and Will cannot help but wonder if this will be the rest of his life. Everything left unfinished, empty and cold. He would already feel the loneliness, the desire to end. Will pushes himself from the railing at the thought, not able to stomach being so close to a cliffs edge once more.

                                  He turns, hands shoved into his pockets and shoulder hiked high, feet shuffling bare and numb over the freezing stone towards the sliding glass door where the warmth of the inner room would be undeniable. His cold-redden fingertips twitch at the thought.

                                  It is only when he reaches the entrance that he looks back at Hannibal, who remained unmoved, simply staring out over the peaks and twists of the forest, and Will feels his lips part, words tumbling out in defeat and pain as he asks, "Do you regret it?"

                                  It is an empty question, and part of Will wonders if he’d screamed it as Hannibal doesn’t react. Until, finally, as if hours have passed, the other man straightens to look over at Will, and when their gazes met, he feels pried, much like nails from wood. There was pain there, regret, but also bitter pride and minute self-loathing that Will could identify with like nobody else could. “Every day.”

_Liar._

                                  The slide of the doors is barely heard, but the glow of Will’s presence disappears inside with the rest of him once more. Part of Hannibal wonders if Will would lock him out here, and part of Will is tempted to, but neither of them react, letting a barrier of glass once again separate them.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. December 24th

_DECEMBER 24 TH, 2015_

        Hannibal had disappeared off to Coeur D’Alene sometime early this morning, leaving Will to busy himself in the large manor. Unfortunately, there wasn’t many things to busy himself _with_.

                                  He didn’t exactly want to describe himself as antsy, but suffice to say, he felt  _penned._ Nothing was keeping him here, something Hannibal reminded him of often, but it was doubt that tied Will to the echoing innards of their home.

 _Their home._ Will wanted to snort as he paced endlessly through the building, needing something to do with his hands before he was driven mad. Hannibal had been right about one thing, Will would have never predicted a situation such as this for thousands of years, and the reality felt like sand on his tongue, never leaving no matter how hard he tried. The fact that he now resided in the same home, ate at the same table, and even slept in the room across from the very man who had killed probably  _hundreds_ was enough for Will to know his younger self would be very disappointed.

                                  But that Will Graham was gone, he was no longer the boy who’d walked around the streets of New Orleans with clean shaved cheeks and a noncommittal grin. He’d never been  _happy,_ per say, but he had been content, unknowing what his future would be.

                                  And right now, it appeared his future was another pounding jog through harsh winds to empty his head of the continuously prodding and twirling thoughts inside.

                                  Muffling a dry cough against the back of his hand, Will once again made his way upstairs to the second floor. The walls were tall, rooms spacey and lightly colored with dark flooring. The furniture was mostly sparse, and potted plants and books dotted along on shelves or corners, all easy enough to leave behind. It was cozy, but still alienating, part of Will still having not accepted that this was his property.

                                  Taking the short trip to his room, Will paused just in front of the door. Behind him, he knew, was Hannibal’s room, the door shut but not unlocked, and a near devilish curiosity swept through him at the thought of turning, to twist the ornate bronze handle and witnessing the man’s single private place.

                                  A part of Will wanted to say Hannibal would never do the same to him, but he seriously doubted that even as it ran across his mind. There was clear evidence that Hannibal had at least _once_ wandered through Will’s home in Wolftrap without his consent, and perhaps it was time to check in a boon.

                                  With an unexplained feeling in his chest, Will turns, fingers sliding away from his own doorknob to Hannibal’s. There is hesitation, for the briefest second, more out of the nagged respect he had for others space after having his own so carelessly violated, but that was just as quickly dissipated.

                                  Hannibal’s room was much like his. To his left was a wall mounted television above an oak dresser that seemed more for show, seeing as there was a larger one to the right of the bed, pressed up against the side wall. The wallpaper was a light pine green and Will could faintly make out the pattern of leaves upon it, nothing interesting, but adding character. Simple sheets, a fluffy white rug. Nothing significant, and Will wonders what he thought he’d find – Bloodied axes and body bags, perhaps.

                                  Still, he could not help but amble almost cautiously into the room, as if something might leap out and bite him. Will finds himself mechanically drawn to the bed, seeing as it was the main feature of the room, and perches upon the edge to look around the airy space he was settled awkwardly in. There are windows on either side of the headboard with a view of the trees so far below, rolling on for miles, and the four oak posters of the bed frame reach tall and ornately, nearly graze the ceiling. The smell of mint hanging faintly in the air, cloying and subpar fresh, and part of Will can understand the comfort of it all.

        Hannibal had chosen this home for change. It was different from both his and Will’s old residence, the same way that they were now different from their old selves.  _Fresh start._

                                 Will’s roaming eyes set upon the drawer of the side table, and much like the bed, it was a near creamy brittle oak shade that settle into the surroundings. His attention officially snagged, Will couldn’t help but cock his head and narrow his yes in a crucial investigation of the little table.

                                  What  _did_ Hannibal Lecter keep in his beside? A stupid, impertinent part of Will wants to think knives but it is clearly not the answer. Would he keep a bible? Or was his belief in god more out of irony then actual contented beliefs. Or perhaps nothing but an empty space, left impersonal and unnecessary from only a few months in the home.

                                  Fingers locked around the small brass handle before Will could ponder any longer, deciding to just act rather than overthink. With a non-too-careful tug, he attempted to pull it open, rather surprisingly, nothing moved except for the table itself, wobbling under the sudden pull, and atop it the lamp and wireframe reading glasses slid threateningly over its polished surface.

                                  Frowning Will curved downward to investigate the small keyed lock he hadn't noticed. Something in him flared, petulant and childish, demanding to know  _why_  Hannibal would lock this as if he did not trust Will, but then again, it was clearly in good reason seeing as Will had just made an attempt on the other man’s privacy.

                                  With a frown tugging his lips, Will laid back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. He doubted it was a matter of trust, but there were lines where boundaries must be made. If Hannibal decided that this was his, then Will would have to respect that like Hannibal respected his.

                                  Will pauses, frown deepening now, suddenly realizing he wasn’t aware of any boundary lines  _he’d_  created himself, only to just as suddenly recognizing the fact that he,  _himself_ , was a boundary line. No wonder Hannibal was hesitant – he had made himself an area to be wary of while being respectfully distant.

                                  Fidgeting slightly at the thought, the corners of his lips tightened as he waged a subconscious battle against the comfortable warmth in his bones and eyelids. Hannibal feared that any wrong move or action could once again lead to the loss of his  _beloved,_ even if that meant after three years locked away and many more before that denied from contact, that Hannibal would continue keeping his hands to himself all these months.

                                  Will rolls onto his side, inhaling deeply and picking up the cloudy but spicy scent of Hannibal, and isn’t even aware when his eyes slump shut, the warmth of sleep dragging him under. It’s not long, maybe a half hour at the most, and he rouses with a groan, a hand sliding under his shirt to scratch at the thick scar that stretched the width of him, only to become suddenly very conscious to the fact someone was watching him.

                                  Lifting his head and blinking blearily, Will sees no other than Hannibal leaning in the doorframe, his own eyes barely open as his temple rests against the cream colored trimming. They stare, for a moment long, before Will clears his throat, seeing no point in making up excuses as he shuffles himself up into a sitting position.

“What time is it?”      

“Two forty. I was worried when I did not find you.”         

        Will grins sheepishly, looking around Hannibal’s room before back at the man as he snags a pillow to hug against his chest. Hannibal’s eyes follow the motion with a flaring intensity, and Will opts to distract him, “How long have you been home?” 

                                  “Ten minutes or so.” Hannibal murmured, unraveling his arms and pushing off the doorframe to approach steadily, as if he might startle like a cat. Sitting on the edge of the mattress a few feet away, Hannibal’s fingers knot in his lap as he looked over at Will. “You are aware of the date, are you not?”

                                  They didn’t have any calendars in the house, and they’d spent a lot of time not knowing the hour let alone the month during their many cramp hours in a stolen Honda. But now with his burner available, Will nodded, swallowing awkwardly at the mention. “The twenty third.”

                                  The silence is awkward, and Will knows Hannibal wants to ask him something. He gives him the opportunity, and when he does not, Will takes control. “Did you ever celebrate Christmas, Hannibal?”

        “Not quite. It has never been a memorable holiday for me. And you?”       

                                  “The same. Dad was too broke to ever get more than a book or two for me. But we did always have a tree.” Will shrugged, the memories of shabby mobile homes and old TV’s broadcasting Rudolph penetrating his thoughts. “Do you remember having any family holidays?”

                                  Will knew he was breaching dangerous territories when speaking of Hannibal’s family, but the man beside him shifted, not uncomfortably. Releasing a breath, Hannibal replied, “A sparse few. We would also have a tree.”

                                  Silence. Always silence. Will was learning to now hate it more than he ever cultivated it. Finally, when the cool icy sheen seemed to return to them each, the doors closing and snipping the straining thread of personality,

                                  Hannibal spoke once more, and his tone reflected the frost that seemed to have overtaken the air. “I will go prepare use something to eat. You have the time to shower if you’d like.”

                                  Will nods and Hannibal pushes himself up, leaving the room and not bothering to shut the door. Will has no doubt they will not mention this ordeal anytime soon. With a near irate huff, Will pushes himself up and straightens the sheets once more, lips pressed tight together as he rubs his palms down the front of his jeans. Shuffling out of the room, he makes his way to the bathroom.

                                  Something needed to be done, the feelings between he and Hannibal were making the weather outside look absolutely toasty in comparison. He wanted Hannibal, and Hannibal wanted him, and yet they skirt the edges like petulant children.

                                  Will stops in the middle of the hallway, closing his eyes and exhaling deeply. The ever penetrating scent of Hannibal had managed to work itself into his sweater while he slept, and Will couldn’t help but turn his nose into it.

 _Enough._ He had a faint idea of what he could do – dangerously stupid should it go wrong, of course – but any second thought was forcefully slammed away as he turns away from the direction of the washroom to go back into his room, unplugging his burner cellphone from its spot on his bedside, and quickly opening his browser.

                                  Using the sides of his fingers to tap in his search, Will let a small grin spread over his face as the childish joke of ‘Christmas Miracles’ ran through his mind.

                                  Maybe if he was lucky, Will could get one himself.

 

 ***

 

        “Get you stuff on.” Will declares, walking straight through the kitchen towards the door, not waiting for Hannibal to even so much as comprehend what was happening. By the time Hannibal caught up beside him, he looked mildly confused, “Whatever are you doing?”

        “We’re going out.” Will said, looking up at the other man from where he sat tying his boot laces. “Whatever you were making, put it in the fridge and come back to it later.”

                                  “This is all very unexpected.” Hannibal says, and not a little unsurely. Understandable, of course. Will had come down after ten minutes, unshowered, and just powered through the kitchen with the announcement. He’d been known to make sporadic decisions, yes, but something so abrupt could possibly lead to some unpleasant outcomes. 

        Feeling the need to show he meant no harm, Will straightened and gave Hannibal a small grin that was not entirely fake. “Trust me. Now get your coat on.”

                                  Giddy with impulsion, Will leaned in to kiss Hannibal on the cheek, the man so shocked by the sudden action he nearly swerved out of it before realizing what Will was doing. Snagging the car keys from the small hook they dangled upon, Will tucked them into his pockets and quickly left the house, having no doubts Hannibal would follow, and he wasn't wrong, by the time Will was in the driver’s seat, Hannibal was coming outside, his own beaten, brown leather jacket wrapped tightly around him as he locked the house and jogged down the steps and over the long gravel drive to where their simple silver Sedan sat.

                                  “May I ask where exactly you are taking me at two in the afternoon?” Hannibal says dryly, closing his car door as he ducks in, but no less stopping the jostle of flurries that followed him in on the wind.

         “It’s a surprise.”

                                   “A surprise.” Hannibal repeats slowly, frowning unsurely, and Will finds he enjoys this little game. The other man is confused and no doubt worried, taken aback by everything happening so quickly with such little time to process.

                                  “Mhm.” Will hums, pulling out of the drive and onto the main stretch. He’d all but memorized the simple instructions that his phone pulled up for him, and the entire ride was spent in stale silence. Beside him, Hannibal was fidgety, fingers dancing over the material of his jeans and tapping against the plastic armrest.

                                  By the time Will pulled up the dirt branch-off, he wanted to smack the other man for his nervous ways. Will was nearly offended that Hannibal would believe that this could be some devious betrayal. Then again, it wasn’t without good reason – he  _did_ throw them off a clifftop after all.

                                  The bright, hand crafted wooden sign was the one to give it away after all, and Hannibal’s brows furrowed as he read it aloud, Will’s considerably slowed speed giving him the time. “ _Clifford’s Tree Farm.”_

                                  Will could feel his eyes on him, but said nothing, not until they’d broken through the trees to a large plot of flat land. To the left was the parking area, families mingling around as they tied different types of pines atop their vehicles and children drank hot chocolate.

                                  Backing in to an incredibly tight space before killing the exhaust, Will lets his hands land awkwardly on his thighs. Biting his lip he looks over at Hannibal, who still looks perturbed by the whole thing. “Neither of us has any good Christmas memories.” Will says slowly, tensing up his words without meaning to. “So I figured we could try and make some – if you’d like to, of course.”

                                  Hannibal stares, blinking slowly, and Will begins to feel this was a horrible idea after all. That is, until he reaches a hand over almost hesitantly to place it on Will’s shoulder. His head jerks up, and Will meets Hannibal’s gaze, eyes widened with surprise. “I must say this is incredibly thoughtful of you.” And there is a smile, a warm tone, and Will no longer feels like he’s drowning, a grin spreading across his face as well. Will nods, and Hannibal’s hand leaves his shoulder so that they can both clamber out.

                                  Will just as quickly regains contact, walking up beside Hannibal and purposely tucking his arm into the other man’s, who blinks down at him in shock and ill hidden delight. Will pretends he doesn’t see, but the smirk on his face says otherwise. He knows he’s rushing, determined to smash the wall between them while mindless of the debris, but he doubts either of them will mind.

                                  There’s a low, red wooden building, displaying that inside you could pay or ‘warm up by the fire’. To the right of that there is an area of pre-cut trees as well as a group of workers currently pushing a fat-bottomed tree through their casing tube. Faintly, in the distance, Will can see miles and miles of trees, set in rows and the people dotted between them.

                                  “Hello there, gents.” Says an older man with grey hair, ambling up to Will and Hannibal where they stood, appraising their surroundings. Like them, he was bundled up, except in exceptionally thicker dress. His face held lines and his eyes were warm.

                                  Will smiled politely. He knew that he and Hannibal, although dressed to fit in this area with their dark denims and simple colors, still seemed to scream of the pretentious, most of which was to blame for Hannibal’s haughty appearance and immaculate posture. It was enough to draw anyone’s attention as they passed.

                                  “Good evenin’.” Hannibal says, a fake but surprisingly impressive southern accent taking over his voice. Will had seen this before every time they were out in public, and it was part of the reason they’d dyed their hair. They’d no longer fit the descriptions of Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter, instead a blond and ginger man who’d come crawling from the south to experience the rest of their fine States.

                                  Not to mention it fit in with Will’s long unused Louisiana drawl, something made all the more sappier by the unavoidable slur left behind by the thick scar through his tongue. It was Will’s turn to pipe up, taking on a chipper, excited demeanor as he added his bit; “Heard this here’s the place t’ come when lookin’ for the tree.”

                                  The man’s eyebrows rose at the interesting foreign pieces in front of him, but carried on none the less, probably in fear of insulting the paying customers. “Sure is. Anything you cut down yourself is fifty bucks – no matter the type – and anything precut is whatever the tag says.”

                                  “We’ll be takin’ a look over at the precuts first, then.” Hannibal says and the man smiles and nods, telling them before they could wander off if they’d need help with anything to come find him.

                                  Hannibal’s arm tightened around Will’s as they strolled over between the car blocked to the precut trees. “You do realize we have no ornaments.”

        “We can get them after. I believe that is more your specialty.” Will murmurs, grinning up at Hannibal sheepishly. “As you can tell, this was all very spontaneous.”

                                  “One of the many things I love about you.” Hannibal says back just as evenly, eyes crinkled from the smile dancing across his features. There was no need to comment on that one, they were both very aware of Hannibal’s feelings, both of them mutually letting it slide so as to look at the many different displayed trees.

                                  “I think we should cut down our own.” Will says after about ten minutes of looking. “Add to the experience. I do like the Firs though.”      

                                  “An admirable choice.” Hannibal purrs, and Will can nearly feel it reverberate in his own chest. With a warm look to the other man, he tugs him along back around the red shack and towards the area where the large tractor-pulled wagon would pick them up so they could go down into the fields.

                                  “We need to pick a saw.” Will hums, pointing towards the collection that was available and giving Hannibal a smug, amused look. He gestures for him to do the honors, and Hannibal crouches down, investigating the different blades, and running his thumb down a few of the spikes on each.

        Will watches from above with his hands in his pockets. “How can you tell which is best?”

                                  To Will they all looked the same, but no doubt if he’d said that Hannibal would give him a lecture of the defining differences. Something Will didn’t need to relive after he had once told Hannibal that all potatoes were the same to him while the other man had been making Moussaka one night.

                                  “The angle in particular.” Hannibal replied over his shoulder as he stands, holding a rugged looking   handsaw, the points jaggedly sharp and the plastic handle a sickly bright yellow. “Although it always tends to matter on what you were cutting.”

 _Ah._ There it was, Will had been waiting for that. The temptation to scoff was all too much. Nothing stayed mundane and domestic between them for long, Hannibal always trying to warn Will off with the reminder of what he actually is when left to nature’s hand.

                                  “I guess that would count. Wood isn’t the densest of things that can be cut with a handsaw.” Will shot back and Hannibal’s eyebrows raise minutely at the sudden grumpiness. Never the less, as their transport shows up and a load of people swath out and unhook their trees from the outer railings, Will still entwines his arm in Hannibal’s. Should the other man have asked, Will would have spit out an excuse of not wanting either of them to slip.

                                  Will climbs up first, and then subtly helps his  _fiancé_ up, the unnecessarily high step onto the wooden cart causing irritation to the still sensitive scar on his side, no matter how much Hannibal denied it for the sake of independence.

                                  Another two families and a couple boarded, and Will was pressed into a corner, his fingers laced and locked tight into Hannibal’s. They’d gone from no contact to so much of it so fast that even Will was reeling, everywhere Hannibal’s body made contact with him seemed to feel of fire.

        Apparently it was the same for the other man, who was looking at Will with a scalding heat that made Will’s cheeks pinken despite the whipping of the wind around him.

                                  The cart stops a mile or two out, a worker in a bright orange vest points out all the different areas and trees within them. When everyone disembarks on their hunt, Will and Hannibal end up going down a low slope towards a collection of short Fraser Firs, most of them just barely reaching Will’s chin.

                                  “I must say, it will be much easier to put the star atop the tree I’d originally thought it’d be.” Hannibal jokes, his regular accent back in place seeing as they were the only ones to have gone this way. It’s quiet except for their footsteps in the snow and the howling of the wind, and low stumps show were trees once were. It was all very rural, the calming essence of the outdoors making Will malleable and neutral.

                                  “I’ve always been a fan of the short trees.” Will says with a shrug, eyes glancing over a particularly scraggly tree and grinning, pointing to it as a joke but only actually laughing allowed when he sees Hannibal’s wrinkled nose.

The quiet takes them again, but this time it is not frosty, simply _there_ \- that is until Hannibal decided to break it, as he always does. “This was a clever idea Will.”

                                  Will raises his eyebrows at Hannibal, who keeps pace beside him, both of them with their hands in their pockets to keep them away from the biting cold. “And how’s that?”

                                  Hannibal stops, and so does Will, finding himself under a prying gaze that said Hannibal knew exactly why Will had done this, and he was grateful. Will’s shoulder slump, and he has to break his eyes away from that honey sweetness of Hannibal’s gaze.  _Thank you for helping us._

                                  Hannibal wouldn’t have done anything about this, it’d been Will move to make. His acceptance and approval was what was needed for this expedition, and Will had never felt such an impulse to kiss someone but also slap them at the same time.

                                  Instead he nods, and they break away from one another to keep looking – something they hadn’t even done yet, their eyes and minds otherwise occupied. “How about that one?” Will says suddenly, speeding past Hannibal towards a thin but full looking tree that appeared to be the exact same height as him.

                                  “It appears to be very healthy indeed.” Hannibal murmurs, eyes gliding over the branches, one hand reaching out to rub a few needles between his fingers before raising his hand to appraise their scent. He nodded then. “A good choice.” 

                                  “Yeah.” Will said awkwardly, grinning widely as Hannibal lowered himself to the snowy ground to examine the area of where he will cut. Will quickly moves to the opposite side of the tree without instruction, remembering his last Christmas with Molly, how he’d cut and she’d pulled from the other side. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Will quickly pushed the memories that felt so long ago aside. He was with Hannibal now, and he wasn’t going to let the past ruin what he now had.

                                  The sawing process wasn’t hard, the small tree had an even smaller stump, and with Will’s extra weight, the thing came down easy – too easy in fact, collapsing back onto him with a unexpected _crack!_ – he wouldn’t have _fallen_ if it wasn’t for his heel catching on another older stump and sending his flat on his ass, the tree coming down atop his lap.

Wide eyed from the sudden action, Hannibal and Will stared at each other in surprise before Will began to laugh, Hannibal huffing a breath out and shaking his head as he stood straight and moved to help Will up.  Will finally managed to control his laughter and succumbed to Hannibal’s mother hen inspection, when he was cleared for duty, he swept his sappy palms on his jeans and shook his head. Hauling the tree back to the pickup place wasn’t hard, and Will took the waiting as an opportunity to lean into Hannibal’s side, sighing contentedly as an arm curled gently around his waist.

                                  “Excuse me?” Came a female voice to their side, and both Hannibal and Will looked over at a kindly Asian woman who was holding a small toddler. She was smiling politely, but the fiery vigor and curiosity in her dark eyes brought memories of another pair of feminine eyes that held that same stern yet kindred power. Swallowing back the memory of a friend long dead lest he assault Hannibal where they stood, he instead smiled back just as politely. “Yes?”

                                  “I heard you talking earlier, am I right to thing you’re from Louisiana?” Will nearly deflated at the innocent question, having been set off by the fact a stranger was talking to them. Innocence was something he was forgetting quickly, paranoia taking its place.

                                  “Yes ma’am.” Will replied with his most charming grin, tilting his head to her in respect, making the women laugh. Hannibal’s fingers squeezed into his side minutely.

                                 “So are you new to the area or just vacationing? I haven’t seen you around – if you don’t mind me asking.” She seemed perfectly comfortable in her own question, something that Will could easily respond to. When Will’s mouth opens to reply, Hannibal swiftly takes over unexpectedly. “My fiancé tends to stay towards the indoors. Not a fan of the cold.” 

         “Well that’s understandable. I went to New Orleans one year and it was toasty, big change from out here.”

                                  She said as he toddler fiddled with a necklace she wore. Seeing the fascination and flicker of sadness in Will’s eyes, the takes pity on what she thinks it longing but in reality is deep regret. “Would you like to hold him?”

                                  “That wouldn’t be a smart idea.” Will says with an awkward laugh, but the women is persistent, shaking off his words. “trust me, you’d be doing me a favor. My husband is looking after the tree and my arms are killing me.”

                                  Feeling trapped, Will felt Hannibal’s arm loosen around him and Will is forced to move forwards, having not held a child in years, the woman adjusts the drowsy child in his arms. “You’re lucky, it’s almost her nap time.”

                                  Will didn’t feel lucky, in fact he felt like any move he made could possibly break the small child in his arms. That is until Hannibal sidles up beside him, one hand on the small of Will’s back and pressed into his shoulder.

        “You have a very beautiful child.” Hannibal says to the women who watches them and seems to be savoring every second there isn’t a child in her arms. “May I ask her name?”

        “Valerie. After my mother.” The women blinks for a second as if remembering something, then laughs. “I’m sorry, I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Julie, I have a bakery in town.”

                                  “Tyrell and Xavier Rex.” Hannibal says for them, and the two shake hands. Will feels remarkably awkward, choosing to instead watch the child in his arms as the Hannibal and Julie talk about what her preferred bakery specialties are.

                                  The child had its mother’s eyes, but after that the similarities end. Little Valerie was ordinary looking, but then again Will knew nothing of babies and how they were supposed to look, having seen very few of them himself.

                                  It appeared it was watching him as thoroughly as he watched she, a grin across her face as she said something incomprehensible and reached up to paw at his nose, quickly becoming bored and moving on to grabbing some of his hair.

                                  They are eventually saved by the wagon arriving once more, and Will hands the child back to it’s mother, whom he thanks for the experience. She’d given Hannibal her card at some point, and they both promised to come visit her at some point.

After watching her go back to her husband, they decided to assist the two workers who’d jumped off and begin trying the trees to the outside holders as everyone climbs in. The ride back is filled with chatter, and the minute Hannibal hits ground he’s getting the tree, much to Will’s protests of being able to handle it himself.

                                  After being told rather sternly that he was fine to do it himself and to go pay, Will shoves his hands in his pockets, eyebrows still raised in exasperation by the time he makes it inside the low red building, the heat coming off the roaring fireplace accosts him.

                                  Will pays quick, not trusting Hannibal’s promise to not overdo himself. Will makes it back to the car quickly in time to watch his fiancé calmly tying the tree down to the roof of their car with the length of rope they kept in their trunk for ‘in case of emergency’ circumstances.

                                  Will took a moment to stop and watch. Those long fingers curving and tangled in the thick hemp, Hannibal’s lip slightly parted and eyes narrowed in a concentration that really was extravagant for tying a tree to a car, but was no less charming. Every movement was thought through, every tug and bind, and Will muses over the fact within one day they’d been closer than they had in three months.

        The way they’re meant to be.

 ***

 

        “If you think you’re going to hang that on my tree, I swear I will push you off a cliff for real this time.”   

                                  Inside a warm antiquities store in the downtown of Coeur D’Alene, Will and Hannibal stand over a large display of fragile glass and porcelain ornaments. One in particular, that Hannibal was currently holding with an all-too-smug grin, was a guillotine. It was a mocking threat, and Hannibal treated it as what it was replacing the ornament to where he’d seen it originally, smirking smugly all the while.

        They’d already selected quite a few, all plain and traditional, and were only now getting to the detailed ones. Before that, they picked up a cheap tree base at a local warehouse store, as well as a strand of lights.

                                  “I do not see why not. If you can have a mutt, why can I not have a guillotine?” Hannibal asks, brow arched at the porcelain ornament of a sleeping Dalmatian with a Santa hat upon its head that was resting gently within their wooden basket. 

                                  “Because dogs aren’t Victorian decapitation devices, Hannibal.” Will grumbles dryly as they continue on. They’d already had a small altercation when Hannibal had picked up a fluffy white lamb ornament and said it had ‘ _Will’s Eyes’_. 

                                  “Ah, here’s one.” Will said, leaning over to pick up a small, locally made piece. It was a small wooden cutting board with a miniature tomato, carrot, potato, and celery stick on it, paired with a knife buried into the board itself. Hannibal actually looked interested, and Will handed it over for his inspection.

                                  “Fine. I approve.” He says, and Will gives him a triumphant look and adds it to their basket before moving deeper into the store, around the tables, mirrors, paintings, and other pieces. There was a small area of cooking stuff, and he pretended he didn’t see Hannibal pick up a set of brass measuring cups with a hum of delight.

                                  Spotting and apron selection out of the corner of his eye, Will scoops up one that depicts the words “ _I’ll stuff_ _**your**_ _turkey”_ with the picture of a ‘sexily’ posed cooked turkey beneath it with a Santa’s hat. Will nearly chokes, turning towards Hannibal and holding it up against him.

                                  Hannibal looks down, brows furrowed as he tries to read it, but gets the proper chance when Will lets it go to muffle his laughter with his hands. Hannibal looks mildly unimpressed as he places it back into its original spot, mumbling how the Santa hat had nothing to do with the rest of the depiction.

                                  They make it to the register without another incident, and Will watches the lady wrap each of the ornaments with layers of tissue paper before putting them in a bag with a smile.

                                  Once back outside, Will loops his arm through Hannibal’s, and they look like any other couple wandering the streets of downtown. No obligations, no horrible, blood streaked past. Just two casual men with looped arms and small smiles, ready for the holiday season and for the excitement of tomorrow.

                                  Hannibal hummed as they passed a cheese store, pausing in front of the window, Will instantly told him to go inside, knowing he wouldn’t without insistence. When Hannibal looked concerned, Will insured him he’d be in the chocolatier next door and to enjoy himself.

                                  And Will did go the chocolatier- in fact, one foot inside and Will already wanted to stay there forever, not only had there been an ornate brass chocolate fountain in the window that had looked absolutely delectable, but it made the entire building smell warm and delicious. There was a square of truffle counters in the middle of the room that a woman stood in checking out a lady’s purchase as the register.

                                  Against the back and side wall there were also counters, and a few cabinets littered the area as well, baskets with labels holding different treats. Trying to find a small piece of him that didn’t want to buy the entire store that second, Will wandered about, ending up at the holiday display. Small chocolate Menorah’s and Kinara’s painted in gold with red flames, as well as snowflakes, Christmas trees, and even a Yule Log are all set out artfully and wrapped with a clear, crinkly plastic.

                                  Will was interestedly examining the immaculate details on one of the Kinara’s when he felt someone come up beside him.

         “Hello, can I help you with anything?”

                                  Setting it down, he smiled charmingly at the girl who’d spoken to him. Teenager, blonde hair and impressively symmetrical makeup around green eyes.

        “That would be, lovely thank y’. I just need somethin’ casual – suggestions?”       

                                  Delighted by the foreign figure she was speaking to – as many in this town seemed to be – she nodded and started talking rapidly about different specials, truffles, chocolates, and themes. And thus they were off, the girl showing him what was in and what in her opinion was “ _absolute shit_.”

                                  Within fifteen minutes Will had his purchase ready; truffles, peppermint bark, plain baker’s chocolates, a few bars of god _knows_ what, and a complimentary vanilla bean hot chocolate mix. Standing at the register as the girl rung in his items – Bella, her name was – Will noticed a small display of knitted products. Upon the top was a thick, gloriously navy scarf, and Will could almost feel the warm softness of it from where he stood.

                                  “I hate to interrupt, but are any of those for sale?” He asks, gesturing to the rack. The girl looks over her shoulder and hums, nodding and grinning at him. “Those? Yeah. Another girl here, Ally, she makes them.”

                                  “Do you know how much the scarf costs?” Bella’s eyebrows raise and she goes to check none the less. The color was go very nicely with the tan of Hannibal’s jacket, and if they were going to get a tree, he might as well have something to put under it.

        “Fifteen dollars.” Even she looks surprised. “That’s a really good price.”     

                                  “I’ll take it.” Will says without a second thought, pulling out his wallet to pay in cash as he always does. When the transaction is completed, Will says his farewell and makes his way back out onto the street, finding Hannibal had been waiting by the door, holding another bag of his own.

                                  “I found a lovely brie and also took it upon myself to pick up a few cuts of meat and fish whilst you were busy.” Hannibal says pleasantly and Will raises his eyebrows teasingly. “Are you trying to say I take too long.”

                                  “Perhaps. Although I believe we could head home soon, the forecast promises snow.” Hannibal murmurs, arm looped with Will’s once more as they start off, bags making them uneven yet determined to not let go of one-another.

                                  “And god forbid we let snow touch you. You may melt.” Will says with such sarcasm that even Hannibal has to smile.

 

 ***

 

                                   “Steady –   _steady!”_ Will’s near rhythmic shouts echo the house as he lays beneath the bottom branches of the tree, screwing the base bolts into place of the trunk. Or at least he was  _trying_ to. Hannibal seemed to be quite content on letting the tree tilt every few seconds so Will has to readjust his whole progress.

                                  “I must inform you Will that this is not as easy as you make it sound.” Hannibal shoots back from above, and Will wants to knock the man’s ankles out from under him.

                                  “I think it’s done.” He calls up after turning all the screws into the trunk until they moved no longer. “Can you get some water?” 

                                  “Of course.” Hannibal pads off to the kitchen. There is the running of the tap, then Hannibal’s return, and a mason jar of water is passed down to Will precariously. Dumping it into the stump holder, Will wiggles himself out from beneath.

         “There.” He says on a huff. “Done.”     

                                  Hannibal nods, looking over the tree with pride where it was placed beside the fireplace in the main room. The lights didn’t take long, simple white, they wrapped around the short tree quickly. After, Hannibal disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a platter bearing slices of pear, honey, brie and goat cheese, as well as a thin salami, capers, and a few other pretentious meats that were paired with a smooth red wine. Will hummed his thanks while snagging from of his personal favorite – pork tenderloin prepared like prosciutto, left a glassy fuchsia and salty – and chewing on it while deciding where to put his dog ornament.

                                  After the tree was decorated, neither of them were quite sure what to do, standing side by side with wine in hand, just staring at it.

         “What are our supper plans tonight?” Will asks to break the silence.           

                                  “I had hoped to ask you. I was wondering if you have any preparations for Haddock of your own.” Hannibal muses back and Will nods his answer. Cooking would distract them both. Just like their old times together.

                                  Migrating to the kitchen, Will went back through his memories to his college diet of soda crackers, lemon squares, beer, and pan fried fish. He’d always done it in olive oil with orange, oregano, thyme, and mint sauce. It was excruciatingly simple, but at the time it’d felt like fine dining.

                                  But today he was cooking with Hannibal Lecter, so playing it up wouldn’t hurt anyone. Wandering about the kitchen for ingredients, he found what he needed and set them on the counter, although he had to decide on whole mint, seeing as they hadn’t any of the sauce itself. Turning to look over at Hannibal, who’d followed him in and was watching passively, he said, “Anything you feel would go good with these, get it.”

                                  Hannibal nods, going to the cabinets in search as Will pulled the Haddock from the fridge, as well as the wine bottle from earlier. Hannibal had pulled out almond slivers, garlic powder, mushrooms, and onions.

                                  Leaving the cutting to the perfectionist, Will dumped the seasonings onto a plate, mixing them with a fork before laying the pieces face down in it, piling it from the sides atop the slimy fish bits and rubbing it in.

                                  The olive oil heated quickly in the pan, but Will still threw some water and corn oil in for precautions sake, laying the Haddock down inside and quickly moving his fingers inside. Hannibal had watched his process, and Will imagines it must have been like a master painter watching a child finger paint.

                                  The mushrooms, orange, almonds, and onions are throw atop to sauté, and Will let’s Hannibal stand by and watch as he pours some of the wine atop the pan.

        “Did you do this often?” Hannibal asks, head cocked. “In Wolftrap?”          

       “Sometimes.” Will said with a shrug. “Sometimes I’d do beer batter. But usually I’d eat frozen dinners.”

                                  Hannibal wrinkles his nose at the mention, and Will know it would be a cold day in hell before he ever tells Hannibal about the fact he actually enjoys those things. Some truths were best to keep to yourself, lest you become a frozen dinner.

                                  Will had always been one to cook high and fast, something he could tell Hannibal was cringing over the entire time, but when it came to serving and eating, it turned out to be much better than either of them expected.

                                  After dinner was spent in the sitting room, Hannibal doing god knows what on his Ipad and Will reading a book he’d picked up at the airport –  _The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo,_ which had turned out to be a very interesting political thriller.

                                  It was close to eleven when Will started to fight sleep, eyes drooping and head dropping, his vision becoming progressively hazier until he wasn’t even aware when Hannibal set aside his device, approaching Will and setting his book aside to gently press an arm under his shoulders and knees, lifting him up with a muffled grunt. 

                                  “Hannibal… What are you doing?” Will mumbled as Hannibal carried him up the stairs, ignoring exactly how much Will weighed. When it came to the rooms, Will had expected Hannibal to go into his own, but was instead disappointed by being brought into his own room and set on tipsily upon his feet.

                                  Hannibal’s fingers busy themselves with the buttons of Wills shirt before easing it off of him, Will just vaguely conscious the entire time. Although, his reality seemed to triple when he felt fingers on the buttons of his jeans. Will didn’t even have time to mumble anything comprehensible before they were off, and he was being pushed gently into his bed and under the covers.

                                  The ghost of a kiss landed upon Will’s forehead, and his blurry gaze could faintly make out Hannibal leaving, shutting the door behind himself and closing out the light.

 


	3. December 25th

_DECEMBER 25 TH, 2015_

                                  It’s three in the morning when Hannibal Lecter finds Will Graham out on the stony balcony, his pale skin glowing ivory under the full moon, still dressed in his tshirt and boxers from so many hours ago. At first Hannibal had been concerned that Will had sleep walked, but when he slid the door open to pace out and check, Will had looked over his shoulder. Although his eyes had been tired, he was completely lurid.

                                  “A bit early for a stroll, is it not?” Hannibal asks, walking up beside his friend and leaning against the railing as well. There is no wind, not today, but the temperature his frigid and burns his lungs as he inhales.

                                  “Kept waking up.” Will grumbled, and Hannibal’s expression is all worry. It shows ever so evidently in his voice when he asks, “Why did you not wake me?”

                                  Will wants to answer in default, that he ‘ _didn’t want to bother him about it_ ’ or ‘ _it shouldn’t matter_ ’, but to Hannibal it did. It always did. He shrugs weakly, straightening from the railing to face Hannibal, who instantly mirrors him, giving Will the opportunity to step forward into his arm and rest his head against Hannibal’s shoulders.

       The man tenses, but his muscles are quick to relax as his arms come up to loosely wrap themselves around Will and hold him tight. “You’re shaking.” He mutters, and Will nods.

                                  “Let’s get you back inside.” Hannibal says into Will’s hair, arm still around his shoulder as he guides him inside and back down the stairs to where the fireplace and tree sat. Will was eased gently down onto the sofa, the flannel blanket pulled from the back and draped over his shoulders as Hannibal turned to start the gas and strike a match, the flames bursting forward with a surging heat.

                                  Hannibal is sitting beside Will again, and he’s like a furnace, a burning ember as the cold seems to finally hit Will, his limbs shaking like leaves and teeth chattering. Hannibal reels him into his side, and Will throws his calves over Hannibal’s legs as he curls into the warmth, hugging on and not caring for the fact that Hannibal only wore a simple robe and pajama bottoms.

                                  Beneath the tree, Will eyes a new addition. He had placed his gift for Hannibal – still wrapped in brown paper from the shop – under the tree, shrugging as the other man watched with raised brows – but now there was another mundanely wrapped parcel beneath.

                                  “Looks like we both had the same idea.” He observes, and a small, all-too-innocent smile curls Hannibal’s thin, uneven lips. They’re very nice lips too, slightly chapped but probably soft, and warm, and…

                                  Compulsion gives, and Will feels himself winding his fingers into Hannibal’s hair and pulling his face down for a kiss so soft it barely feels there. This had been brewing for a while, they’d both been perfectly aware that it would come one day, it’d been in the back of their minds for so long it nearly goes ignored – until now at least.

                                  Hannibal responds, arm around Will tightening, his other hand coming up to Will’s jaw, tilting his head for an even angle. Will was right when he presumed Hannibal’s lips were warm, as was the mouth behind it, and although it was a remarkably lazy kiss, there was still a passionate heat behind it that promised further motivation in the following days.

                                  They sit like that for a while, lips sliding and tongue prodding and it’s all exploitation to this new and exciting activity for them both. Hannibal pulled back first, and Will could swear there were tears in the man’s eyes and he smiled down at Will, who laughed quietly. “I do believe this counts as a ‘Christmas Miracle’.”

                                  Hannibal laughs low in reply, and Will can feel it under the man’s skin where his hand lay across Hannibal’s chest. His other hand remains entwined in the horribly blond mess upon Hannibal’s head and he sighs. “Is it strange of me to miss the grey?”

“No stranger then for I to miss your lovely chocolate.” Hannibal says with a small smile, and Will’s cheeks pinken unconsciously. To save himself from more girlish embarrassment, Will takes a second to break away, reaching under the tree and handing the rightful parcel over to Hannibal with a small grin.

                                  Hannibal sets it aside, kissing Will on the temple and quickly murmuring “just a second” onto the skin, quickly pushing himself and going into the kitchen, after a minute, he returns with two mugs and one of Will’s paper chocolate bags in the crook of his elbow, Will accepts both from him so he can settle back down.

                                  Will realizes quickly it’s mulled wine, something Hannibal had begun preparing after super and had been left to simmer overnight, making an appreciative noise and he take a sip, watching with a sheepish grin as Hannibal unwraps his gift, his smile growing as he sees the scarf there. His long fingers run over the fabric, just as soft as Will had imagine it being. “It’ll go nicely with your jacket.”

                                  Hannibal’s eyes are sparkling as he looks over at Will, pulling him in and kissing him on the temple again. It’s Will’s turn now, and he pops a chocolate into his mouth before handing the bag over to Hannibal to do the same.

                                  “Naughty boy.” The man murmurs, realizing a second within biting into the dark chocolate that it had an orange cognac filling, Will grins deviously and shrugs innocently, as if he’d no idea what he’d purchased.

                                  All too excited as he unwraps his gift, Will pauses as he finds a plain brown box beneath. Frowning suspiciously, he untucks the edges and opens it to find – “Is this a  _pet dish_?”

                                 “I believe I have been persuaded.” Hannibal sighs, and if Will wasn’t a full grown man, he might’ve squealed. His eyes are dancing as he looks up at Hannibal, who is smiling at the reaction he received. “You’re letting me get a dog?” 

                                  “If that is what you desire, then yes. Although I doubt I could’ve ever stopped you.” Hannibal says, and Will sets the box aside to press himself into Hannibal’s side, the arm across his middle squeezing him in a half hug as he murmured a delighted ‘thank you’ into Hannibal’s shoulder.

        “It doesn’t have to be a dog, you know.” Will pipes up suddenly with a frown, and Hannibal looks as if someone has just told him Jesus has been reborn as a goldfish, the shocked expression making Will snort. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while. Dogs are, confessedly, harder to transport, noisier too.”

        “That is a change of tune I never deemed to hear from you.”    

                                 “Don’t think you’re escaping though.” Will says, and Hannibal’s brows raise even higher. “I was thinking of a cat.” Will explains innocently, and Hannibal’s expression is unreadable, so Will continues. “They’re smaller. Easier to travel with. Besides, you said it yourself –” Will grins, fingers tracing over Hannibal’s bare chest and the hair that lay upon it as he looks up and meets Hannibal’s gaze. “ _Fresh start.”_

        “I guess I cannot complain.” Hannibal sighs, and Will knows he would’ve won even if he wanted a fucking _bear_ for a pet. A eurphoric feeling taking over him at the delight of how yesterday and now today were, he kisses Hannibal again, not so long as last time, but just as affectionate. And Will knows that if he were anywhere else then here, he’d never feel as happy as he did now. But in his gut, he felt the nagging pull, the knowledge that this would all end very soon, and that he and Hannibal would be back to bared teeth and snapping jaws. It seems that they were forever cursed to hate one another but somehow always end up needing the other.

                                  “Does this mean that you are no longer stopping to pet every dog you see in public?” Hannibal asks after they part for breath, and Will scoffs, brows pressed down as if the idea was ludicrous, but he is happy to be distracted from the black knowledge curling impatiently through his mind. “I’m thinking of getting a  _cat,_ I’m not a savage.”

                                  They both laugh, low and warm, and neither of them bother to get up to their beds, instead staying sprawled over their couch, enjoying each other’s company with mulled wine and rather fantastic chocolates until the sun threatens to rise and they are both willow eyed and too tired to move, lying along the couch from shifted position. 

“Happy holidays, Hannibal.” Will murmurs, his voice barely sensible as he nuzzles his face into Hannibal’s chest, he next words coming out muffled and barely noticeable, “love you.”     

                                  And although Hannibal is tired, and Will is near incomprehensible, his words are sharp and crystal clear to Hannibal, making his heart heave and his throat work, eyes burning with emotions that had never made much sense to him but still were all too powerful. Hannibal strokes his fingers through his Will’s hair, savoring every second that the younger man was pressed along him, entirely vulnerable and soft in his sleep, entirely trusting in Hannibal, and the words his murmurs back in reply are no lie, “I love you too.”

                                  It’s a night neither of them forget.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All-rightely doodles. Thank you so much for reading and (hopefully) enjoying. 
> 
> Dear secret santa person, you asked for a fluffy bunny with sharp thorns, so here it is. nothing like a little angst and fluffy this holiday season to really keep the cold away.
> 
> Anyway, i'm always open for suggestions, comments, and criticism , so hit me up at any point. Enjoy your holidays.


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